Assignment Chocolate Frog
by immortal215
Summary: Agent 47 is contracted by the agency to kill members of the Order of the Phoenix and the trio. Follow him as he expertly executes his 12 targets. R&R please. CHAPTER 4 IS UP !
1. Chapter 1

_Assignment Chocolate Frog_

Summary : Agent 47 is contracted by the agency to kill members of the Order of the Phoenix and the trio. Follow him as he expertly executes his targets. R&R please.

A:N(_text in italics is thought)_

5th of September, 05:45 pm

"This wouldn't be the usual type of mission, 47" Diana's recorded voice issued from the portable computer "Although very well-paid, this mission involves a lot more targets than usual, all of whom are members of the Wizarding community. We know very little about the Wizarding world, 47, their many eccentricities alone can be very intimidating to an outsider, that's why you were especially asked for this assignment. The targets in the following list are all compulsory; each head is worth $ 250,000. The final five are worth $ 750,000 each."

Agent 47 paused the recording as he read the list of targets:

Remus J. Lupin

Nymphadora Tonks

Alastor 'Mad-eye' Moody

Kingsley Shacklebolt

Molly Weasley

Arthur Weasley

Minerva McGonagall

Hermione Jane Granger

Ronald Billius Weasley

Harry James Potter

Severus Snape

Albus Percival Wulfirc Brian Dumbledore

"Targets number7, 8,9,10,11 and 12 can currently be found at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," resumed Diana "Our client has arranged a way for you to enter the premises. The photo in the brown file is of Amadeus Crow, a teacher in Hogwarts. He teaches Muggle Studies. He has failed to arrive at Hogwarts for the start of the school year due to a bad case of a disease known as dragon pox and is currently resting in The Leaky Cauldron, whose location can be found on a map attached to Crow's photo. Crow can be neutralized and you are free to take his place as Muggle Studies teacher, again, a file of any needed recommendation letters and Curriculum vitae is attached. The elimination of the remaining targets, on the other hand, is left to your own imagination, although a list of possible locations they might be in, are in their respective Bios"

47 extracted the photo and the map and studied them carefully. The man was stout and wore the most ridiculous lilac robes and a matching pointed hat; he had a strict expression and a pointed goatee.

"Eccentric, Indeed" said 47 as he turned the recording back on.

"If you choose to follow this route," said Diana "You will be awarded a bonus $50,000 for your trouble. We have little to no intel on this mission, 47, so tread carefully."

Agent 47 extracted Alastor Moody's file and scanned down to a line that said: Target is usually in a meeting in a house between 11 and 13 Grimmauld Place.

_That's odd, ___Thought 47 impassively

47 soon discovered that most of targets 1 to 5 are to be found at the aforementioned house at one point or another. He saw that the majority of them were present at the same time for a 7:00 pm daily meeting. 47 checked his watch, it was 6:00 pm. He had an hour to get to Grimmauld place from the centre of London.

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Agent 47 was perched atop a building opposite of number 11 Grimmauld Place, his index finger caressing his WA2000 customized sniper rifle's trigger, his aim was directed at the nonexistent gap between 11 and 13 Grimmauld Place. It was 9:00 pm. He has been in this posture for two hours. Beads of sweat slid down his forehead, his controlled breathing was the only sound audible.

Out of a sudden a man appeared out of thin air, he was garbed in old shabby robes and had more scars on his face than hair on his head. One of his eyes which seemed to glow blue in the dark whizzed around in its socket, like a surveillance camera. He was just about to turn the spot.

The sight of a man appearing out of nothingness would have had any man running in the opposite direction. The fact this man had a pair of eyes that mismatched in size and colour and one of them seemed to move of its own accord, would have reduced the bravest of men to shivers of fear. Not 47, though. He maintained his controlled breathing, and focused the scope's crosshair on his target's head, and squeezed the trigger. Once. Just Once. The man fell down to the ground, his head bleeding profusely. His brain shut down in mere seconds, though his large blue eye kept whizzing in its socket, apparently oblivious to its owner's death. A young woman with screaming pink hair came into being at the same spot the man had appeared, and whipped out a stick from within her robes.

She looked around alarmed, her wand issuing revealing spells. 47 squeezed the trigger one more time and another bullet hissed through the air and embedded itself in the young woman's belly. She doubled over and fell down on her fallen comrade. 47 sent another bullet into her skull. _To be sure _he thought. He waited for five more minutes, but no one on his list appeared. Bystanders were now approaching the two victims. _Looking for anything to loot, no doubt _thought 47 as he saw one of them brandishing a small knife. He packed up his sniper rifle and descended into the streets, where he mingled amongst the people.

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6th of September, 09:00 am, The Prime Minister's office

A bald blue-eyed man was standing aimlessly by the urinals in the bathroom outside the Prime Minister's office. He eyed the urinals as if he expected someone to pop out of one of them. The tip of his index finger felt the poison filled syringe in his left pocket. He heard someone swiveling the handle to the bathroom's door, and 47 retreated silently into one of the cabinets. He knelt and looked from under the door to see thick black boots walk towards one of the cabinets, but then withdrawing to the row of urinals and stood still in front of one. He heard the sound of a zip being pulled down. 47 exited the cabinet swiftly and saw the man's black bald head.

47 silently took out the syringe stowed in his pocket and approached Kingsley, his black designer shoes silent on the ceramic floor. But Kingsley had finished earlier than 47 expected and he turned around to see a bald man with a needle pointed his way. Kingsley reached into his muggle suit to get his wand, but 47 had already whipped out his silenced Silverballer and had expertly sent two shots into Kingsley's neck. Blood erupted from the puncture-like wound, as the jugular artery emptied its contents at high pressure. 47 paced to the bathroom's door and locked it. He hefted Kingsley's huge bulk and threw him through the rectangular window at the far side of the bathroom. A thud emanated from the outside as Kingsley's lifeless form fell into an open dumpster in an alley. 47 slid through the window himself and was gone.

A:N (So what do you think? Review with any thoughts or suggestions. Chapter 2 should be up within a couple of days)


	2. Chapter 2

A/N : (Huge Thanks to David Fishwick, TiffTiff6655, and Robert1000, for reviewing ;)

8th of September, 08:00 pm, Remus J Lupin's apartment

It was not midnight at this time of the month. Yet, Remus Lupin stood in his werewolf form. His fur was thicker than it had ever been. His eyes were a bright shade of yellow, his canine teeth more sharp and pointed than ever. He had to ingest a double dose of the Wolfsabne potion - which sedated his ferocious nature when transformed- to contain the anger and grief that boiled inside of him.

The transformation was threatening to take control of him, ever since he saw Tonks' body two days ago, and he had finally given into it. The hunger still throbbed in his head, empowered by his rage and anguish. Certainly, it was lessened greatly by the potion, but it persisted. Throbbing and pulsating into his head.

His small apartment reeked of mould and rotting wood. His heavy feet caused the floorboards to squeak as he moved across the floor, his chest heaving. He grabbed a framed photo from atop a small table, Nymphadora Tonks looked out at him from behind the frame, her hair changing in colour from blond to black to pink to red and again. She smiled sweetly at him. He gripped it so hard, a spider web of cracks spread across the glass frame's surface. He meant to sigh, but it came out in a rough growl. He placed the photo back onto the table and collapsed upon an armchair, whose legs moved apart from each other under his weight. He rested his face in his furry hands and sobbed roughly.

A gloved hand pulled the window open silently. Agent 47's ice-blue eyes scanned the perimeter thoroughly, before he slipped swiftly into the apartment. 47 walked towards the werewolf like a ghost. He had come up to Lupin from behind. 47 extracted a gleaming elongated object from within the folds of his designer suit. An eighty five percent silver knife, which was provided by the Agency for a price of $10,000. The other option was silver bullets but that would have taken three days to manufacture and 47 decided he could do with a melee weapon. He held the knife with an iron, yet flexible, fist. He approached the mourning werewolf and with not a second of hesitation, he brought the knife down into the creature's spine.

Lupin howled in pain as his skin and flesh boiled upon contact with the deadly silver. Dark blood exploded out of the wound, spraying 47's pure black jacket with botches of dark crimson. Lupin's brain was already shutting down, but his werewolf self lashed out and thrashed his arms around trying to retaliate upon his attacker.47 swore as he felt the werewolf's long claws graze his skin, leaving a long, but not deep, gash in his, perhaps flawless, skin. The werewolf fell to the ground, a loud thud echoed through the tiny apartment as his hulking form collided with the wooden floor. More blood flowed on the old floor boards as Lupin's brain died, his last thoughts were of Nymphadora and how he would see her again.

47 took off his blood stained jacket and threw it into the feeble flames of the flames roared into life, as they reduced the jacket into cinders. 47 came out the way he came in, through the window, and was on the street. He headed onto his next destination, Ottery St. Catchpole village, from where he could locate the two targets: Molly and Arthur Weasley.

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9th of September, 07:00 am, Ottery St. Catchpole, The Local Market Place

"Look at this gadget, Molly," exclaimed Arthur Weasley holding a battered blunder he picked from one of the many goods racks that spread out through the market place "They say it can make juice instantly out of ay fruit"

"Yes, Arthur," said Molly Weasley in despair "A poor replacement for a juice-making charm, don't you think? Now, why don't we just get what we came here for and leave?"

The market place was heavily crowded. Salesmen had erected wooden tables on which they had an assortment of goods: fruits & vegetables, second-hand equipment and machines, cutlery etc…

The Weasleys were looking for ingredients with which Molly could prepare dinner. A few months ago, they would have been shopping for such items in Diagon Alley, but Molly had recently discovered that prices in the village were much cheaper than those of Diagon Alley. Normally, Molly would have gone on such an errand alone, but with the rise of Voldemort and the recent killings of Order members, Dumbledore had strictly ordered that an Order member must always be flanked by another Order member; so Arthur had taken the day off at the Ministry to accompany his wife, much to her dismay.

"No, Arthur," cried Molly impatiently, replying to her husband's pressing question "We don't have time for you to examine the television"

Arthur's shoulders drooped and he kept to his wife's side, fighting the desire to grab on to that magnificent machine.

They strolled deeper into the market place, and as they did the number of salesmen and shoppers decreased, until they had reached a bald salesmen standing at a rack of watermelons, mangos and a variety of food items.

"It's all here Molly," said Arthur examining the goods on the stand "Melons, mangos, apples, and even luncheon. If I didn't know better, I'd say this man was peeking into our groceries list!"

"He is" said the man coldly and two bullets lodged themselves in Arthur Weasley's head, their source the silenced Silverballer concealed in the man's pocket. Molly yelped and instinctively pushed the man back with all of the strength she could muster. Her long nails trailed the path of the wound inflicted upon 47 by Lupin and he snarled in pain, backing away. She whipped out her wand and pointed it 47 saying "_Stupe…."_ But before she could complete the last syllable, 47 had his hand around her throat, constricting her larynx and her air supply. Molly's eyes bulged, her face turning purple as 47 cupped his hand behind the back of her head, the other on her chin, and he wrung her neck violently. A 'crack' hung in the air, as Molly's body fell to the muddy floor, her head dangling on her chest, both lifeless.

47 left the rack of fruits and vegetables, which had evidently cost more than 200 pounds, and swiftly disappeared into the more crowded part of the market, mingling inconspicuously among the buyers and salesmen.

A/N :( So what do you think? It was a bit rushed, I guess, review please ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's notes: **_I'm awefully sorry for the long delay, you probably hate me, however, I am making up by posting two consecutive chapters, perhaps a third will be out in a day or two. Please review your thoughts and/or any suggestions, criticism or outright flaming. Now with the story_

_p.s. The events of this fic take place in Harry's sixth year, just wanted to clear it out._

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**10****th**** of September, 10:00 a.m., London, The Leaky Cauldron**

47 walked into the entrance of the inn known as The Leaky Cauldron, and his senses were attacked by a flood of stimuli. Pungent odors and greenish fume rose from the tips of thick noxious cigars sticking out of many a mouth, the people at the bar were having a loud argument about Quiditch. 47 approached the bar unperturbed by the apprehensive stares directed at him. Even when he was dressed in a set of black robes, he still seemed out of place in this tavern.

"I am looking for Amadeus Crow," drawled 47 in his somewhat sophisticated English accent "I was told he rents a room here"

Tom, the bartender, paused, suspicious of the man.

"Professor Crow is indisposed," replied Tom, eyeing 47 cautiously "I do not believe he would be able to meet you"

"I believe otherwise" said 47, sliding half a dozen galleons on the counter towards the bartender "I am here to assist him on a project concerning…muggle cars and ways in which they operate"

_I'd bet my pension that's not why you're here,_ thought Tom but aloud he said, "Of course, if you'd follow me, I'll take you up to his room"

47 passed a hand casually over his pocket allowing the handful of galleons in there to emit a jingling noise. The message was all too obvious to be missed by the bartender. Tom led the bald man up a flight of stairs and along a hallway, before pausing at one of the doors.

"This is it, Mr.…?"

"Le Blanc," said 47 handing the man more galleons "Allan Le Blanc"

"Very well, Mr. Le Blanc," said Tom pocketing the galleons, without giving them a second look, and giving 47 the fakest toothless grin he could manage "Have a nice day"

47 waited until the man's footsteps down the stairs ceased to be heard before putting his hand on the doorknob.

_Meanwhile in Malfoy Manor…_

"Are the charms in place?" asked the cold demented voice of Lord Vlodemort.

"Yes, my lord," replied Lucius Malfoy "The charms that would negate the muggle repelling ones laid on Hogwarts have been strengthened seven fold and the shielding charms have been modified to especially target the muggle man, all to be activated once he steps through Crow's door."

"Excellent!" hissed Voldemort, his long fingers drumming a tattoo on his throne-like chairs armrest.

47 twisted the knob and pushed the door back, it creaked audibly. He entered the room carefully, his trusted Silverballer in his iron grip. He felt a warm tingle run down his back the moment he stepped through the door frame. He almost tripped as his shoes collided with a soft object. He looked down to the ground.

"And Crow?" inquired Voldemort, his cold voice echoing off the room's walls.

"At this stage of the disease," said Malfoy "I doubt he could even move"

Voldemort said nothing, he was too busy contemplating to pay attention to Malfoy. He hadn't expected the muggle to come this far.

"Of course," elaborated Malfoy, desperate for praise "It is merely a glamour charm endowed with a slight paralysis and nausea hex and…"

"Silence!" hissed Voldemort, cutting the excited Death Eater off immediately.

"Yes, my lord"

47 saw the body of a stout man lying back down on the ground, his bloated belly pointing upwards erratically, a line of drool ran down from his mouth to his pointed goatee. Dark red dots were spread indiscriminately on his face and hands, quite possibly the rest of his body. 47 knelt down next to the man and felt for pulse. The man was alive, though 47 could tell he lost control of his motor functions for over three hours. 47 extracted a poising syringe from within the folds of his robes and administered the poison to Crow's neck. He exited through the door, carefully shutting the door behind him and made his way out of The Leaky Cauldron, ignoring many of the odd stares he received. He had a letter of application to prepare.

**12****th**** of September, 7:00 p.m. Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Headmaster's Office**

Albus Dumbledore sifted through five recommendation letters that were sent by Jonas Akerfeldt, an applicant for the recently open Muggle Studies teaching post. The only applicant, that is. Dumbedore had enough on his plate, four order members turn up dead in a span of a week and now this! Crow's death was uncanny, Albus never heard of such adverse effects of dragon pox, the disease rarely resulted in mortalities. This Akerfeldt person certainly saved Dumbledore much trouble looking for a replacement to Crow. He rubbed his eyes exhaustedly and waved his wand over Akerfeldt's application and the Hogwarts crest appeared at its bottom, the word "Approved" were written below the Latin motto. A gentle rasp on his door sounded and Minerva McGonagall entered the room, followed by Dedalus Diggle, Sturgis Podmore, Emmeline Vance and Hestia Jones. Severus Snape came in a moment later, as if he refused to be associated with the earlier bunch.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable," said Dumbledore and waved his wand sideways causing a group of rich backed chairs appear in his office "Any further Order meetings will take place here until a safer place could be arranged, now, Severus I believe you said you had some information?"

"Barely," said Snape "The Dark Lord is obviously distancing me away from himself. I fear he has grown to distrust me. Nevertheless, I have managed to gather some information concerning the recent murders"

No one spoke, their lingering eyes pressing Snape to continue.

"I was skeptical at first," said Snape "But seeing the unmistakable pattern in the killings, it appears the Dark Lord has hired an assassin, most likely a…muggle."

"Are you sure?" asked Podmore, scratching his chin nervously.

"I am positive," replied Snape "I had eavesdropped on the many private conversations the Dark Lord has with Malfoy concerning the subject. Last I heard them, they were talking about Amadeus Crow ; the very same night he was found dead in his Leaky Cauldron room"

"But the healers have assured me his death was a result of an extreme development of dragon pox," said Dumbledore, lost in thought "Why would Voldemort want Amadeus dead? He was no Order member, I doubt even Voldemort knew he even existed. If he is responsible for Crow's death…" Dumbledore trailed off.

Snape shrugged indifferently.

"This muggle assassin," wheezed Diggle "Is it not possible for us to know who he is? At least what he looks like?"

Snape snorted "I doubt the Dark Lord has ever met or communicated with the man, it is possible they only communicate through a middleman or perhaps even a chain of middlemen"

"Four members of the order have been killed so far," said Dumbledore "We cannot afford any more losses. Severus, I would require that you…"

He was interrupted, however, as the doors to his office were pushed back and a red faced Mundungus Fletcher burst into the office.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt was just found in a dumpster behind the prime minister's 'eadquarters!" said Fletcher between gasps "e's a under a full-body bind curse. e's in St. Mungo's now"

**6****th**** of September, six days ago, a dumpster behind the the Prime Minister's office**

Kingsley's vision was failing him, as he felt his neck spitting out blood and knew that in a minute or two he would be dead. Though his mind was shutting down quickly, Kingsley's Auror training took over and he lifted his wand meekly and non-verbally casted a full-body bind curse on himself. He couldn't risk trying a healing when he could pass out before completing the spell. He felt his body become rigid and stiff, the blood spurting from his neck stopped and seemed to solidify in mid air. The full-body bind will keep him alive by stopping the bleeding, but he wasn't sure how much time he could last without the spell decaying. He slipped into soothing nothingness as his consciousness escaped him and he lay there in a dumpster in a dark alley.

**12****th**** of September, present day, Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Headmaster's Office**

Already McGonagall, Vance and Diggle were running out of the office, no doubt to the nearest apparition point. Dumbledore was conversing with the portrait of former Headmistress Dylis, upon which the latter promptly disappeared from within her portrait. Podmore cast some floo powder into the fireplace and muttered a location, to which he was immediately spirited off. Snape stood determinedly and whipped out his wand, before realizing he couldn't do anything helpful and resigned to sitting down again. Fletcher eyed him and snorted. Dumbledore returned his attention back to Fletcher.

"Mundungus," he said rubbing his eyes wearily "I believe you still had something else to say?"

"What?" said Fletcher, before he remembered "Ah, yes, well rumor 'as it that You-Know-Who has made dealings with a muggle contract killer and even gave him a list of targets to go after. I 'ave asked 'ere and there and managed to find out that it is very possible your name is on that list"

"Well, that's quite the discovery Mr. Fletcher," sneered Snape "Of course Dumbledore is a target, his name is probably right at the top, he is perhaps …" He paused when he saw Fletcher was looking at him, waiting for the penny to drop.

"You're on that list Severus," said Fletcher softly "more than one source 'ave confirmed that"

Snape turned towards Dumbledore, his face growing paler.

"He must know I am a double," whispered Snape "He must have made some sort of connection"

"I'd rather believe he thought of you," said Dumbledore, he paused then said "as an unnecessary liability"

"Headmaster!" shrieked an edgy feminine voice, and the three occupants of the room turned their heads towards Dylis, who had reappeared in her portrait "Kingsley Shacklebolt has recovered enough to speak, he has trouble remembering anything, but the healers are working on him. He should be as good as ever by this time tomorrow"

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**Author's notes: **_I hope you liked this and didn't think of it as a drag, anywho next chapter should be available, so why don't you click the review button __**then **__the arrow-like thing which takes you to the next chapter?_


	4. Chapter 4

**13****th**** of September, 1:00 p.m. Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, The Great Hall**

Albus Dumbledore was seated at the teacher's table in his ornate high chair. A platter full of the most mouthwatering delicacies rested on the table opposing him, but he made no attempt to approach it. Similarly, Ginny Weasley did not touch her food, and sat boring holes into it with her red puffy eyes. Albus sighed as he saw a fellow Gryffindor attempt to engage her in conversation before she quietly asked him not to. Two seats away from her sat Ron Weasley. He, however, ate his full and perhaps even more, venting the grief that gnawed at his insides into the food.

_Was I so careless in taking care of those who entrusted me with their lives? _He berated himself.

The doors to the Great Hall opened and a lone man walked through. He was garbed in a dark travelling cloak and held a medium sized trunk to his side. His bald head actually managed to reflect whatever rays of sunlight generated by the enchanted ceiling. He marched to the teacher's table, his icy-blue eyes focused on the Headmaster. Albus had just sent the man a letter about four hours ago, informing him that _in light of the current situation, I hope you would not mind being inspected for any dark artifacts, surely you realize this is mere regulation._

"Jonas Akerfeldt, I presume?" said the Headmaster standing to his full height and offering his hand.

The man nodded and took Albus' hand in a rather lifeless handshake.

"You've received my letter, I hope?" said Dumbledore.

"Yes, I have," replied Akerfeldt coldly "I would be more than happy to allow your men to examine my luggage and my person"

"I believe a standard revealing charm would suffice," said Dumbledore, waving his wand in circular motions "Yes, that should be all, nothing to worry about, although I hope you plan to keep that bottle of wine away from students"

"Oh, of course, Headmaster," retorted Akerfeldt "though I believe the students should be kept away from me with that bottle in my hand"

Dumbledore lughed mirthlessly; Akerfeldt contributed a small chuckle, and then remained silent. Dumbledore nodded at McGonagall and she softly tapped her spoon onto her glass, requesting silence. Silence was immediate.

"Due to our Muggle Studies teacher, Professor Crow's unfortunate demise," said Dumbledore "I present you with his replacement, Professor Jonas Akerfeldt"

A few claps could be heard, but Dumbledore doubted most of the students even knew Crow existed. That thought made him think of the Order meeting he had last night. His mind pondered again, _why would Voldemort want Amadeus dead?_

**13****th**** of September, 8:00 p.m., St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries ,4****th**** floor, Spell Damage, Augustus Smethwyck**__** Ward**

"Casting a full-body bind curse was indeed the best course of action," said healer, Sarah Underhill, as she escorted Dumbledore to Kingsley Shacklebolt's bed "due to the long time he spent under, however, he has suffered severe tissue damage. His motor functions are fine, but more delicate aspects such as memory…" she sighed "I'm afraid any recent memories might be lost or at the very best, blurred"

"I understand," said Dumbledore as they reached a curtained bed "Is he awake?"

The curtains were pulled to the side, to reveal Kingsley Shaclebolt sitting upright in his bed.

"I can't remember anything, Dumbledore," he said, his voice a little rougher than usual "I know what happened, but it's all blurry, I cannot…"

"I am not here to talk to you about that incident, Kingsley," said Dumbledore warmly, though any one could tell he was somewhat disappointed "I am merely here to make sure you're alright. Also, I have something to offer. The minister has decided that a few Aurors should be stationed at Hogwarts in light of these dark circumstances, and I'd like you to be one of them"

"But, Dumbledore…"

"Now, now," said Dumbledore "I would be relieved, having someone as competent as you to protect my students, now wouldn't I? I expect you to be in your quarters at Hogwarts by tomorrow morning at the latest"

Kingsley didn't reply. He knew why Dumbledore was doing this. Kingsley knew his own life would be in far more danger, now that he had survived the attempt on his life. The real one being protected was him.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Terribly sorry for the delay(understatement, much?) I was having my GCSEs and I lost all hope in any of my fics. Yet, I recently saw some of the positive feedback you guys gave me and that motivated me to continue the story. I'm not sure if the flow is going to change, probably will, as the kills will be more seperated. With more room for 47 for 'trial and error'.**

**I don't want to be a pushy ***hole, but it is the reviews which keep me going. So, make sure you review what you thought of this chapter. And now, on with 47.**

* * *

**Semptember 15th, ****10:30 p.m. Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

Agent 47 stood in front of the small desk that dominated a corner in the Muggle Studies teacher's chambers. A small map lay on the desk, showing much of the grounds of Hogwarts, the surrounding forest and part of Hogsmeade. 47's index finger traced a path from the doors of Hogwarts to an icon on the edges of the Forbidden Forrest labelled ICA. He swiftly folded the map and slipped it into the pocket of his fawn robes.

47 opened the door to his chambers and whipped out a black eleven-inch wand from within a hip holster. 47 walked down the corridors, heading for the Great Hall and for the gates.

Before he was able to enter Hogwarts as Jonas Akerfeldt, the new Muggle Studies professor, 47 made sure he was not carrying any muggle artifacts (apart from those required by the actual subject) which meant he had to relinquish any form of weaponry or electronic communications device if he was to pass Dumbledore's revealing charm. The client has arranged for his equipment to be dropped off at the nearest point to the castle, for 47 to pick up later. Which he is going to do.

* * *

Kingsley Shacklebolt patrolled the corridors outside the Griffyndor dormitories, his wand held high, its tip alight. He reasoned that an assassin hired by Voldemort would most likely make on attempt on the Boy-Who-Lived's life. Thus, he patrolled these corridors on that basis, his wand at the ready and his senses sharpened. As Always.

He sighed.

It was ridiculous! A muggle assassin breaking through the security of Hogwarts?The safest place in the Wizarding World?

Insane.

_Yet, that very muggle assassin has succesfully murdered five order members. Not to mention he almost killed me _Kingsley thought.

But in the end, Kingsley was certain he was wasting his time here. Dumbledore was keeping him close to protect him. And he hated it.

Yet, he patrolled the corridors.

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47 kneeled in the dry soil of the Forbidden Forest, an elongated black box in front of him. The box had his isigna on it along with the letters ICA. He looked around, perhaps, for the fifth time since he came here.

He had found the box hidden within some foliage at the base of a gnarled old tree. The tree was situated deep enough into the forest that an outsider would not spot 47. It was, however, somewhat close to the hut in which lived the Half-giant, Hagrid.

47 opened the box to reveal his Silverballers (silncer, ammo and all), two vials of poison and sedative and syringes and his tiny laptop. He swiftly hid these items into the folds of his robes. He was about to leave when he spied something else in the box. A memory chip labelled : Intel.

He added the memory chip into his breast pocket and rose.

He scanned his surroundings, paying close attention to the strange-looking hut when it's door opened.

Hagrid's giant form was silhoutted in the door frame. The half-giant was talking to someone. 47 strained his ears and listened.

"Well, if yer ever in need of anythin'," said the half-giant "ye know who to come to, eh? Now, let me take you to in ter the castle"

"No, Hagrid, it's okay," said the young voice of Ronald Weasley as he exited the hut, barely managing it past Hagrid's girth.

"Yer sure, now?" asked Hagrid.

"Yeah, Yeah, of course," said Weasley, his voice becoming muffled. He was crying.

Ronald Weasley made his way to the castle, his shoulders drooping. Hagrid watched him till he was almost to the doors, then he entered his hut locking the door behind him.

Agent 47 saw an opportunity. He quickly, yet silently, followed the redhead to the doors of Hogwarts.

On the way, 47 whipped out a black eleven-inch wand from within a shoulder holster, the wand's tip lit as he pressed a concealed pressure sensor. The wand was another elaborate toy provided by the Agency's contacts. Custom-made. Containing an actual magical core, should it be inspected. This little gimmick had cost him $50,000.

47 stopped behind Weasley at the base of the steps leading to the giant, ornate doors of the castle.

"Young man," said 47, his cold voice stopped the boy in his tracks "what could you be possibly doing out of bed at this time of night? It's well an hour past curefew!"

Weasley turned at the top of the steps. He semed to squint, attempting to recognize the man at the bottom.

"You're that new Muggle Studies professor, aren't you?" asked the redhead "Jonas Akerfelf, was it?"

"Akerfeldt," corrected 47, his voice composed "Off to your dormitories, now, young man"

The boy turned, and without a reply, entered the castle. 47 followed him, his 'wand' held high in his left hand, his right had disappeared into the folds of his robes. 47 was ambidextrous, a very valuable trait for an assassin.

He had hesitated in finishing off the boy outside the castle, wary of Hagrid being alerted. He has also heard about the sentient creatures hiding within the Forbidden Forest. Therefore, 47 decided to follow the boy into the castle (where almost everyone was in slumber) and find a secluded corner in which to eliminate him.

47 followed the young redhead up a couple flights of stairs. They were walking through an empty corridor when 47 decided it was as a good place as any. He tightened his right grip around the Silverballer, which he had silenced, and made to pull it out...

"Another troublesome Weasley, eh, professor?" echoed an old female voice.

47 was startled, something he rarely does. He instinctively looked around, but saw noone. It was Impossible! He was certain no one followed them. His Silverballer as halfway out. Could it be he was making blunders, now?. Was he getting too old?

He looked at the redhead. His face had reddened and was on the verge of tears when the voice spoke his family's name.

"A more troublemaking bunch I have never encountered before!" the voice said again. Yet, this time, 47 was able to pin point its source. The woman who had spoke was not behind him, nor any where around him.

The woman who spoke was in a large portrait to his left. She had the most wrinkled face 47 ever saw, and wore blue velveteen robes. She stood in the midst of many large fruits, in an artist's rendition of a giant's garden. Indeed, the outline of two large legs could be seen behind the woman.

47 quickly slipped his Silverballer back into the inside pocket of his robes. He looked at the portrait for a moment. He had seen the moving portraits before. Yet, it had never crossed his mind that they had a personality of their own let alone that they could talk. He never even thought of inspecting them. A mistake he could have paid dearly for.

"Please, Mr. Weasley has suffered two terrible deaths in the family," said 47 coldly, his tone scathingly so "He would appreciate it if you do not antagonize his family name"

That shut her up.

47 wiped his brow, which was slick with perisperation. He thought of the intel memory chip in his breast pocket.

"I...I didn't even know you were behind me," said the young Weasley.

"Indeed," 47 said, smiling "Well, I wouldn't be doing a good job of patrolling the grounds if you did, would I?"

He walked the boy the rest of the way to the Griffyndor common room, making sure the redhead was slightly leading the way. All the while, 47's eyes scanned every nook and crany on the walls and the ceiling, coming to the conclusion that the moving-talking portraits dominated almost every square inch in Hogwarts.

They arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady, where a tall dark wizard stood by, his wand held out. The man relaxed considerably upon seeing the pair.

"Ronald, what were you doing outside your dormitory at this time of night?" asked Kingsley Shacklebolt, lowering his wand "I hope he had not given you any trouble professor..."

Shacklebolt squinted at 47's face.

47 tightened his grip on his 'wand'. The gimmick was also equipped with a miniature dart-launching device. A double click on a hidden button and a dart covered in sedative would dig itself into Shacklebolt's neck.

Although his face was composed, 47's mind was a turmoil. A dead man stood before him. Kingsley Shacklebolt was the third target he eliminated! Yet, there stands the man as healthy as a horse!

Yet, the look on Shacklebolt's face was not that of recognition but of ignorance.

47 made a gamble. He offered his hand.

"Professor Jonas Akerfeldt, at your service," said 47, his sophisticated English accent polite to the core.

"Ah, you must be the new Muggle Studies professor," Shacklebolt said "Kingsley SHacklebot, Head Auror, at yours. It was a real shame what happened to your predecessor. He taught Muggle Studies here for nearly eighty years!"

"I can only hope I can fill in his shoes," said 47 genialy.

"I'm sure you'll do fine," said Kingsley "Say, I have this unearthly feeling that I've seen you before, have you ever been at the Aurors' at the Ministry?"

47 forced a chuckle.

"I can happily say I've never been arrested before," said 47 heartily "if that's what you mean"

Kingsley smiled.

"My mistake, sir," he said "you have a good night!"

47 returned the pleasentary and departed towards his chambers. He had a lot of problems he would have to rile through. These portraits, or rather eye witnesses. The free intel provided by the Agency which almost never happens, so something must be up, and, last but not least, his eliminated targets rising from their deaths.

Shacklebolt, on the other hand, had one thought going through his mind.

_I don't believe Akerfeldt was on patrol duty tonight._


End file.
